Dead Connection (20 page)

Usually a defense attorney’s attempt to steer the direction of a conversation in the interrogation room would have provoked threats of high sentences, cherry-popping cell mates, and death row. But under these circumstances, Ellie shared Campbell’s desire to clear Hamline as quickly as possible.

She looked at her watch. It had been more than an hour since Mark Stern had called in the employee from Jersey City to track Enoch’s computer usage by location.

“You bill your hours at the law firm, right?” Ellie asked.

“Unfortunately,” Hamline said.

Ellie knew from her ex-boyfriend that corporate lawyers were obligated to keep detailed records to account for their professional time in six-minute increments. At five hundred bucks an hour, clients tended to complain about rounding up. Ellie had a feeling that a comparison of Hamline’s billing records against Enoch’s log-ons would exonerate him.

“Give us a second, and we’ll see if we can’t clear this up.”

ELLIE REACHED the credit card company while Flann called Mark Stern to ask for a report of Enoch’s log-ons to FirstDate. The card had been opened only a month earlier. Whoever opened the account used Hamline’s home address as his residence, but asked that the credit card and all bills be sent to a post office box at a Mailboxes Etc. No doubt they’d find out that the box had been rented with Hamline’s stolen ID.

“Were there any charges on the account other than to FirstDate?” Ellie asked the woman at the other end of the line. By tracking down purchases, they might locate the purchaser.

“No, ma’am. Just the two charges to FirstDate, each for thirty dollars.”

“I’m sorry. You said there are
two
charges?” Thirty dollars covered a one-month membership, and Enoch had not yet been a member for a full month.

“That’s right.” She provided two dates to Ellie. One corresponded with the day Enoch enrolled with FirstDate. The other payment was made three days later. Ellie thanked the woman for her time and flipped her phone shut.

She found Flann at his desk, reviewing a fax from Mark Stern. It was the computer-locating information for Enoch.

“Thanks to this,” Flann said, “we’ve got a timeline of Enoch’s online activities, matched with physical locations. We need to cut this Hamline guy loose. Almost all of Enoch’s connections to FirstDate were made from three different cybercafés throughout Manhattan: one downtown, one in Murray Hill, and one in Midtown. The one exception was when he logged on last night from a café on City Island.” Ellie recognized the name of the town, a seaport community off the western edge of the Long Island Sound. “I’m still waiting on the billing records, but that firecracker in there already vouches that Hamline was taking a dinner break downtown last night, not frolicking on City Island.”

Ellie told Flann what she’d learned from American Express. “If Enoch made two payments to FirstDate in the last month, he must have another profile, using another name to contact who knows how many other women. We need to call Stern.”

“Good. You do that while I wrap up Hamline’s alibi.”

TO ELLIE’S SURPRISE, Stern sounded downright gleeful to hear from her. “Did you get the I.P. data I sent?” Mark Stern, citizen extraordinaire, fighting crime wherever it was found.

“Yes, thank you. It’s proving very helpful. Look, I’m calling because we need one more thing. It turns out Richard Hamline’s credit card paid for two different memberships this month. Can you check on that?”

“No problem.” She heard fingers tapping on a keyboard. “Huh. That’s odd.”

“What?”

“The other membership. Wow, that’s really weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“The charge was for Amy Davis. Richard Hamline paid for Amy Davis’s membership.”

Ellie paused, trying to process the information Stern was giving her. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’m looking at it right here.”

“But Amy had a free membership.”

Stern laughed. “Sorry. Free membership’s an oxymoron at FirstDate.”

“But I saw the offer on her computer. It was a thirty-day trial membership.”

“Not for FirstDate, it wasn’t. The marketing types have proposed it, and I’ve held firm. If people think they can subscribe for free, they’ll stop paying me.”

Ellie was certain of what she’d seen in Amy’s e-mail account. She described it in detail to Stern, who didn’t seem to be surprised.

“It’s fishing,” he said.

“Fishing for what?”

“No, phishing. With a ph. It’s a doctored e-mail, so it looks like it came from a legitimate company. It probably contained a link to a Web site that looks like FirstDate’s site, and then asks the recipient of the e-mail for information about themselves. I can tell you one thing, though — if it offered a free account, it didn’t come from us.”

Ellie thanked Stern for his time and hung up in a daze. Flann was walking toward her, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and sprang Hamline. His billing records all checked out. The guy’s barely got time to take a leak, let alone hang out in cybercafés all day long. You okay?” Before Ellie had a chance to answer, he offered her the paper in his hand. “This fax came for you. An old police report on an Edmond Bertrand?”

According to the Boston Police Department, Edmond Bertrand, date of birth, October 16, 1974, had been arrested for forgery six years earlier. Cited and released. No booking photo and no fingerprints. He had been arrested after trying to use a stolen credit card number to pay for a suit at Brooks Brothers.

Ellie needed to call Suzanne Mouton again.

27

“I’M SORRY TO BOTHER YOU AT HOME, DETECTIVE ROBI—” ELLIE
stumbled over a seemingly unpronounceable Cajun last name.

“Just call me Dave.”

“Sorry. Your neighbor Suzanne Mouton gave me your number. I believe she might have told you that I was interested in Edmond Bertrand?”

“I was just fixing to give you a ring.”

“Do you know the details of his drug overdose? He had some problems years ago with a homicide victim we’ve got up here.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this fellow can’t be up your way. He’s dead.”

“You’re sure?”

“Suzanne told me you’d probably be asking that, so I checked the death records. It was no rumor. Edmond Bertrand died of a fatal drug overdose. Says here his body was found on Avery Island.”

“I’m just being thorough.”

“Don’t apologize. I had a partner who was just as tenacious, and now she’s the sheriff.”

“Did you happen to get a date of birth for me?”

“Five, twenty, seventy-seven.”

The man arrested in Boston had given his birth date as October 16, 1974. The easiest explanation was that the man arrested in Boston had no connection to the Edmond Bertrand who had died in Louisiana nine years ago. But the name was so unusual, and Ellie couldn’t ignore the fact that the Boston Bertrand had been arrested for unauthorized credit card activity. Tatiana’s initial arrest involved the same crime, and Enoch’s FirstDate membership was paid for through credit card fraud.

“Do you know anything else about Bertrand?”

“I asked around after Suzanne called. You sure you want to hear this? It’s the kind of story that’ll put snakes in your brain.”

“Trust me. They’ll find plenty of company.”

“You know the Davis family had a problem with him?”

Ellie reeled off what she knew about Edmond’s unwanted attentions toward Amy and the restraining order issued against him.

“Well, the warning didn’t take. He followed her at the shopping mall when she was home from college, and he went down for a ninety-day stint. Bertrand had been known as a neighborhood character, mentally challenged but fairly harmless. From what I’ve learned, two recidivists got hold of Bertrand in his cell and violated him. By the time he got out of jail, he was using heroin to self-medicate. Within a year of his release, he OD’d on the full-tilt boogie.”

Ellie sucked in her breath. She had more than snakes in the brain. She had a lump in her throat and an intense feeling of anger at Evelyn and Hampton Davis — even at Amy. She used a boy to get a grade she hadn’t earned, and his punishment was a sexual assault and a deadly heroin addiction. In the wrong person, she could imagine that kind of treatment developing into a dangerous and obsessive hatred.

“Is there any chance the body wasn’t Bertrand’s?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, does the death certificate indicate how the ID was made, or what shape the body was in?”

“It doesn’t include that level of detail, but I know the coroner who signed off on it. He’s a good man. Conscientious too. And Bertrand’s prints would’ve been on file. You can bet the ranch on this one.”

Ellie realized her questions must’ve sounded crazy, but she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “Do you have a number for the coroner?”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were thorough.” He paused, then read off a Louisiana telephone number.

“Did Bertrand have family? Anyone close to him who might’ve identified the body?”

“He was raised by a widow named Helen Benoit. She never had children herself, but she brought in the damaged ones like stray animals. She may be able to tell you more.” He gave her another phone number.

“Thank you for your time, Dave. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You need anything else, you can always call your podjo down in old New Iberia.”

ELLIE DIALED the number for Dr. Ballentine Clarke, the coroner who had certified Edmond Bertrand’s death certificate. She was greeted by an answering machine for the county coroner’s office and left a message asking Dr. Clarke to call her back as soon as possible. She noticed Flann pulling on his coat and she hung up the phone.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I need a break. We’ve done everything we can do tonight. We’ll take a fresh look tomorrow.”

“But what about this?” She held up the fax from the Boston PD, and Flann laughed.

“That was your thing, remember? I seem to recall being told that you were requesting that report as a personal favor for a friend?”

“Sorry about that. It was just such a long shot.”

“Exactly, and now all you’ve got are two unfortunate people who share the same cracker name.”

“But the so-called free membership from FirstDate changes everything. Enoch obviously had something against Amy Davis. He sent her that fake e-mail to lure her onto the Internet.”

“I agree. But Amy’s beef with Bertrand was ten years ago—”

“But—”

“Grudges can last decades. I know. And that’s why you had good instincts thinking it could be him. But you’ve checked now, and the guy’s dead. Even in Louisiana, coroners know how to identify a body. Tomorrow we take another look at everyone who knew her.”

“Coroners make mistakes. Maybe he didn’t bother with fingerprints or dental records. Visual ID’s can go wrong. Remember that car accident last year where the girl’s family ID’d the wrong body? Turned out their daughter was alive and well.”

“Until the error was discovered a week later. Edmond Bertrand has been sleeping with the fishes for ten years. I think someone would’ve realized by now if there’d been a problem. Besides, the birthdays don’t even match.”

“If Bertrand doesn’t want to be found, he could have given Boston PD a fake date of birth.” People who use aliases often juggle multiple names but use their own dates of birth. Edmond Bertrand could be doing the reverse.

“Go home, Ellie. There’s nothing else to do tonight.”

She watched Flann’s back move toward the exit. “I’m calling Helen Benoit.”

He threw her a departing wave. “You’re waking up an old lady for nothing, Hatcher.”

Ellie looked at her watch. It was an hour earlier in Louisiana, but still late for a call to a stranger. On the other hand, sometimes being a member of law enforcement called for poor manners. She punched in the telephone number for Helen Benoit.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice was quiet. Her accent was similar to Evelyn Davis’s, but she sounded older and less genteel.

Ellie explained who she was, then said she was calling about Edmond Bertrand. Silence fell on the line.

“Mrs. Benoit?” Ellie prompted.

“Edmond?”

“Yes. Edmond Bertrand. I was told you brought him up?”

More silence. Then, “I haven’t thought about Edmond for a very long time. I was his foster mother.”

“I’m sorry to bring it up, but his name has come up in a matter related to Amy Davis.”

“That
horrible
girl.”

“That horrible girl is dead. She was murdered this week in New York.”

Ellie heard the old woman gasp, as if she might literally suck the words back into her mouth. “Well, I hadn’t heard that. I’m surprised I wasn’t told. At least, I don’t
think
I was.”

“I know that this sounds peculiar, but we’re trying to make sure this doesn’t have anything to do with all the trouble that happened down there between her and Edmond.” Ellie hoped that New Iberia social custom wasn’t so different from Kansas, where every piece of nastiness could be alluded to politely as
all the trouble
. “We have to check out every possible avenue.”

“Edmond was blamed for a lot of bad things, but this one I’m sure he had nothing to do with. Edmond passed on some time ago, right?”

“I’m aware. Losing him that way must have been very hard on you.”

“Well, I tried not to get too attached to any of them. I was not their real mother, you know, just a temporary caregiver.”

Ellie could tell by the tone of the woman’s voice, nearly a decade after Edmond’s death, that, as hard as she might have tried, professional detachment had eluded Helen Benoit.

“I was wondering whether you might know how Edmond’s body was identified when he passed on. Did you see him?”

“Oh no. The state took care of all that. I think he was cremated. There were no services.”

She did not appear to understand what Ellie was asking. “I was wondering if perhaps the coroner had you come in to identify the body before he was cremated.”

“He was an adult by then.” As a foster mother, Helen’s legal guardianship over Edmond would have terminated when he turned eighteen.

“Did he have another family member who might’ve handled the identification process?”

“Children wind up with me when they don’t have any other family.”

“I see. So you’re not sure how they knew it was Edmond.”

“I never thought to ask. Why does any of this matter now?”

“I’m just trying to nail down a few things about what happened with him and Amy. Do you happen to know if Edmond was good with computers?”

“Edmond? I don’t think so. He was slow, wasn’t he?”

Ellie noticed this was the third time that Helen seemed to be asking questions of Ellie instead of the other way around.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Benoit. That’s why I was calling you — to ask you about Edmond.”

“Well, then, he was slow. I guess that’s what they’d call it. He wasn’t good at many things, other than looking for people to care about him. And the children who came and went through here had all kinds of hobbies — I couldn’t always keep track — but Edmond and the computers? I don’t think so.”

“What about someone close to him? Did he have a friend, or maybe another child in the house, who knew about computers?”

“There was another boy — maybe Jasper, or was it Tommy or Dean? But the one I’m thinking of didn’t live here when Edmond was around. Or at least I don’t think so. Oh, darling, I just don’t know. It’s been so long, and I’m on in years myself. I cared for more than thirty children, and I can’t remember what all of them were interested in.”

“What about religion? Were any of them particularly religious?” Ellie rattled the cages of her memory searching for the information she’d read on the Internet about the name Enoch. Two biblical meanings. One, the son of Cain. The other, the son of someone else, and the source of something called the Book of Enoch.

“I took them all to church with me every Sunday. Can’t say whether it stuck with any of them, to tell the truth.”

“I don’t suppose the Book of Enoch sounds familiar to you?” It was a shot in the dark. Religious fascination often morphs over time as people move from church to church, sect to sect, and text to text, seeking the satisfaction that continually eludes them.

“The Book of what?”

“Enoch.”

“Now that one I haven’t heard of. That’s not in the Bible. This is a Christian household.”

“Does the name Enoch sound familiar at all? Maybe even a pet or something?”

“Oh no. I never let the children have pets. I had enough of a time watching the kids.”

“Would you mind if I spoke to some of the other kids who were in your care with Edmond?”

“I’m afraid they don’t stay in touch with me. That’s one of the hard parts of being a foster parent.”

“Can you give me their names? I can track them down from there.”

“Well, I’d have to go back into my picture albums to see who was here, when. Would pictures be helpful? I could mail you some pictures, and you could look at those.”

Helen Benoit sounded excited and Ellie realized that the woman was reaching an age where she was losing her memories and was offering the one form of assistance she could provide. Ellie hated the fact that her questions were forcing this woman to confront her inability to remember the children she had reared in her own home.

“Maybe someone who went to school with the kids could help—”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see if I can’t track someone down.”

Ellie added that pictures would be nice, then spelled out her home address to avoid the black hole that was the police department’s interoffice mail system. “And I’ll make sure the photographs get back to you safe and sound.”

Ellie hung up the phone picturing Flann as he waved good-bye. He was right. She had bothered Helen Benoit for nothing.

JESS WAS WATCHING the late night news when Ellie finally got home. The look on his face told Ellie he wasn’t happy.

“You didn’t return any of my calls, so I’m watching TV trying to figure out what the hell my sister’s gotten herself into.”

“Sorry. I’ve been moving nonstop since I woke up.” She went directly to her laptop.

“Where were you last night?”

“Working. I slept at the precinct.”

She felt bad lying to Jess, but she didn’t have the energy to get into her love life when he was clearly upset by what he must have seen on the news.

“Why are they dusting off old stories about William Summer and our family? What does any of that have to do with your case, Ellie?”

“Obviously it has nothing to do with it. But we haven’t released any details. We had a suspect for about five minutes, but then we had to let him go — without anyone knowing about it, thank god — because this asshole keeps sending us on wild-goose chases. The reporters have nothing to say, because we’ve got nothing to tell them. But they know they’ve got a good story, so instead they talk about little old me and our family’s interesting background.”

She stared at the computer screen, willing it to power up faster, then gave up to grab a beer from the refrigerator.

“Please tell me you didn’t do this just to get Dad back in the news again. You tried that before. You gave yourself high blood pressure, got way too skinny, and Mom’s still broke and half crazy.”

She took a few big gulps from the bottle of Rolling Rock, then gave Jess a long stare. “No, Jess, that’s not what happened.”

“So why would you put yourself out there? How’d your name even get out? Why would you let that happen?”

“Stop talking to me that way. If it’s good for the case, I really don’t mind if a bunch of mindless talking heads want to haul out old news.”